I Want Naked Sporkers
by Dark Armies
Summary: A thread that spawned deep within the Relic Forums. It gestated and grew into a fanfiction for Warhammer-lovers everywhere.


A/N: I am posting this story on behalf of my friend, who wrote it. Note: It is from Dawn of War. Second note: this was designed to be read in a thread, and that the beginning/end and many of the ideas were in direct response to posters. Enjoy!

**Chapter One: I want Naked Sporkers.**

A band of Eldar are crouched in a crater, off near the sea of green that is one of many random jungles across the planet. Dark Reapers and Guardians are preparing for battle, as Marines are in the area. The hot, sweaty jungle breeze sweeps across their camp, unknown to them at the time the peril that comes for them.

Suddenly, he strikes! The Naked Space Marine of the Blood Ravens! Trusty spork in hand he leaps from the bushes and stabs the nearest Reaper through the neck. The blood gushes like a geyser and he rolls into the middle of the guardian squad. Within seconds he breaks the arms of the nearest guardians, and while their fingers twitch he swings their Shuriken Cannons toward their allies. The nearest Guardians are gunned down in a flash of white while the Marine turns to the Reapers, reaching for some unseen carrying-space. He then reveals dozens of deadly sporks, throwing them with disturbing accuracy into the joints of the Eldar's once-effective armour. The last remaining guardians raise their cannons, finally, after getting over the shock of the Marine's rippling muscles, but the Marine is no longer there. He has delved once more into the brush, leaving only a number of bloody sporks and corpses in his wake.

The Naked Marine of the Blood Ravens plagues the Eldar for days, the disturbing speed and efficiency of the once-armoured marine now moving unhindered through the deep jungles. Now he sits alone, deep in the untamed wilds, wittling yet more weapons of mass destruction from the trees surrounding him. The ceremonial knife he stole from the Eldar scum is only the beginning, he thinks, as he shapes yet another finely-cut spork. He grins to himself, hiding the deadly weapon for use at another time.

**Chapter Two ...wait..third leg?**

Corruption is spreading across the land and legions of black-armoured Space Marines marching through the mists of a desolate wasteland..

When suddenly bleating erupts in the midst of the marines! With disturbing accuracy dozens of goats are launched into the air, shrieking and kicking, and bringing untold doom and destruction upon the poor fool they land upon. The goats crash into the marine defenders, knocking some down, crushing others. Goats everywhere begin headbutting marines with reckless abandon. The Marines, disturbed and confused by the sudden array of incredible armaments the Chaos have devised, fall back toward their rear line, goats nipping their ankles all the way.

Then the dreadnought comes out, unleashing thousands of shells into the crowd of Chaos heretics. Missiles launch from behind the hulking machine, only to hit too late. The second goat wave cometh! Goats falling like rain from the sky, hundreds of fluffy bleating daemonic goats of DOOM cover and pile up around the Dreadnought. All too soon the once-magnificent weapon of mass destruction is caught beneath hundreds of pounds of goat flesh and entrails, all the while the Chaos Marine legions advancing ever forth.

The Force Commander must admit defeat! These new weapons are deadlier than Heavy Bolters, Plasma Cannons, Missile Launchers, even Lascannons combined! The dropships come to retrieve the scrambling Blood Angels and the Heretics rejoice on the battlefield-- their new stunning weapon is working out all too well.

But what's that on the horizon? A Three-legged man with a knife? **GASP!**

Oh no! It's the dreaded Naked Spork Marine. What can the Chaos do?! Can their new Goat-hurling technology possibly defeat the insane mass-destruction abilities of the infamous Naked Marine? The Heretics shout amongst eachother in their anxiousness.

But across the battleground, upon the ridge of a large crater, the Naked Marine stands his ground, grinning.

...and then he wonders if it's a bit nippy out here, or if it's just him.

**Chapter Three: Can the Spork defeat the Goat? Time will only tell...**

Alright. I've come up with a couple other ideas.

When we left the poor chaos, they had fought to a standstill, and were now facing down the most horrible and disturbing of all foes: THE NAKED SPORKER! Wielding his deadly weapons with the efficiency of a trained martial artist.. or at least someone who really loves sporks.. the Naked Space Marine is all-too deadly a foe.

But the Chaos Goat-throwing technology is nigh unstoppable! It even overwhelmed the overpowered Dreadnought! How could one man, even if he IS naked, hope to defeat such a deadly weapon?

The two foes stood across the battlefield, eyeing one another, and in some cases vomiting in humiliation. But the Chaos Commander stood unfazed against the monstrosity and disturbing sight that was the Naked Space Marine. No, it isn't size that matters-- it's how you use it! With that in mind, the gave the command to launch the first wave of deadly goats.

Bleating bags of flesh streaked across the sky like artillery shells, only far more likely to defacate on your shoe than they are to blow you to smithereens. But the Naked Marine would not surrender! He zig-zagged across the battlefield, evading the furry poop-bombs with the elegance of a really, **REALLY** girly Eldar.

Alas! Though he was nimble, and though he was quick, that damned candlestick STILL tripped him up. So the Naked Space Marine lay crumpled in the dirt, cursing the maker of that sadistic candle, and believed all was lost when the goats began to land all around him. The Chaos commander laughed, a hearty, throaty laugh, and his captains laughed as well. All was right on this backwater planet once more. The Chaos had overwhelmed their foe, and all was lost for the pathetic humans.

And then it happened. The Jungles grew silent. Too silent. The ground begin to shake and quiver beneath their feet. Even the goats stopped trying to eat the Naked Sporker's back hair and turned to face the nearby ocean of trees. Something was wrong. Something horrible was coming. Something so ungodly, so disturbing, so monstrous that nothing could possibly stand against it. The Chaos marines stared at the jungle in awe as the trees began to shake and tumble. A massive path was being cleft into the forest by something huge.

The Chaos Marines once more readied their coveted goats and watched the jungle for change. The path wound ever toward them, and within minutes it reached the breach of the trees. When that monster took its first wobbly step from the jungle, nearly half of the chaos front line fainted in fear and amazement. The Naked Space Marine groaned and continued to shove the now-silent goats off of him. Then he turned to see what the Chaos were so enraptured by.

It was 12, no, 30 inches long! And that was just its nose! The massive green creature let out a deafening _insert Godzilla roar_ and charged across the field. It was a snotling! Only it was huge, at least 6, possibly 7 feet tall! The insane creature ran headlong into the band of Chaos, knocking some over with its disturbingly large nose. It then tickled others into submission with those _creepy_-looking fingers. Dear Emperor, this was the secret Ork weapon they had heard so much about! The deadly Snotling Tickler of the YellowSnow Warband! How could anything stand up to such insanity?!

The Naked Marine could not hope to stop this deadly new weapon. Instead he lay there, still as he could, while the goats concealed him once more. When he crawled out from the mud an hour later, once the screaming had stopped, he found only death and destruction. The Chaos lines had been broken-- not a survivor as far as the eye could see. An entire regiment decimated in little over an hour-- it seemed impossible. Later he would find out from his swingin' Apothecary friend, Dave, that the Chaos Marines had all died from burst bladders from laughing too hard. The tickler had struck again.. but how could they hope to stop it?

The Naked Marine saw only one recourse. He had to join up with the only other being on this planet capable of stopping such a monstrosity of un-nature. The one-legged one-armed one-eyed ninja of the Eldar. Only he, with poor depth perception and amazing falling-over techniques could possibly stand against this Orkish creation.

With that in mind, the Naked Space Marine of the Blood Ravens set out for the nearest Eldar encampment.

...which just happened to be in the direction of the sunset.

......which just happened to be being filmed for a spaghetti western.

**Chapter Four: Bit nippley- er.. Nippy out here, isn't it?**

When we last left our valiant and reasonably cold hero, he was setting off to search for the universally reknown one-armed one-legged one-eyed Ninja of the Eldar Forgeworld "Gimpalot". He has now travelled through endless steam-soaked jungles and evaded deadly pink orks for days. He began to wonder if he was truly doing the right thing. What if the legendary ninja declined his proposal? What if the ninja refused to help him destroy the almighty giant snotling tickler?

It was while pondering these questions that our hero stumbled across the Eldar outpost where, rumour had it, the Ninja was positioned. The naked sporker crept silently through the brush, avoiding what contact he could with Guardian patrols. Aspect Warriors were training in a large field to the east. It looked like standard wargames, overseen by some veteran drabbed in a flowing black cloth. The elder leaned heavily upon his cane, and viewed the training with his own bare eye, neglecting the use of any nonsensical technology the Far Seer might offer him.

This was the man for which he had come, this much was certain. The Sporker snuck behind stationary guards, dashed between patrols and open spaces. He was certain no one had spotted him, not yet. At least, not until he tripped. Alas, even Space Marines screw up. Though, normally, their suits prevent them from tripping themselves.

They were upon him in seconds-- dozens of Guardians and Reapers from the base camp had him surrounded and he knew that there was no escape. He lay there, soaked from the mud, until the elder warrior that was supervising the training session hobbled over to the caught marine.

"This being is useless. Dispose of it."

Those words stuck with the Naked Marine for the rest of his life, which, if the ninja had his way, would be cut short by a couple centuries. The Naked Sporker decided to make his move. He drew himself up from the ground, grabbed the nearest eraser, and wiped the Guardian and Reaper squads from the page. He gave a great laugh, and the ninja turned back. The Naked Marine leapt into the fray, eraser in hand, prepared to destroy this ninja if he would not join him to fight the devastating new ork weapon.

The Ninja had anticipated the entire display a dozen times before the Marine had even stumbled into camp. The Eldar launched himself backward, narrowly evading the almighty eraser. The Marine continued his advance, launching attack after brutal attack. Yet, with every attempted erasure, the Eldar was never where his attacks landed. After a few minutes, he decided that it would probably work better if he were facing the Ninja.

Thusly, he turned about and threw the eraser directly at the Ninja's torso. The Eldar launched himself back once more, falling out of the way of the deadly eraser. With a small smirk, he even kicked it aside with his single leg. He then leapt back upright, somehow balancing upon his cane while raising his leg into the air. The Naked Marine could only stare in awe: It was true. The rumours, the tales, the naked pictures-- all true! He could not hope to defeat such an unbridled fury as this monstrosity of un-natural proportions. The Ninja wound about and launched his own attack, sending his heel barreling into the side of the marine's head. He was down in milliseconds. Faster than he could have possibly expected, the Eldar's leg wound around his neck whilst he fell and twisted, sending the Naked Marine into a dizzying spin.

The Sporker held his hand up in protest, he gave beneath the awesome fury of the Gimpja. The Eldar held his attack long enough for the Space Marine to tell him about the deleriously insane Giant Snotling Tickler. He told him how the single Snotling had butchered an entire regiment of Chaos Marines and their newly-created Goat-throwing technology.

The One-armed, One-legged, One-eyed Ninja nodded.

...then he took off his headphones and turned off the banshee-shrieking Eldar "band" known as "Britney Seers", and let the Man explain why he had come to the camp.

**Chapter Five: Midgits You.**

When we left our valiant heros, they had debarked upon the trail of the Giant Snotling Tickler. After days of travelling their path landed them deep in the jungles of Purgatory. They had already seen signs of the Sporker's rampage through even here, as many denizens of the jungle and scouts of various races were found, organs erupted from their now-lifeless corpses, disturbing, yet comical grins spread across their face (have you ever seen an Ork smile? It's creepy).

It was early during their second week that the one-armed one-eyed one-legged Eldar began to truly slow down. They had been without food or water for over a week, and obviously the Ninja's poor physique couldn't handle it. Of course, the Naked Sporker, due to his various implants, could survive weeks without food, water, or sleep, and still perform impeccably, as he frequently reminded his companion. Little did they know that they would soon find that which they sought, and even less did they know that that fiendish Eldar had been undressing our hero with his covetous eye for days now.

Minutes later they heard the trademark, (and yet somewhat static), roar of the Snotling in the distance. Oh, and the shrieking, hysterical screams of the Marine's Chapter-Brother's bladders erupting in a geyser of yellow streams helped, too.

Quietly they peered out from the treeline, roaming their eyes over the brutal rampage the Tickler had visited upon a Blood Raven camp. Hopelessly enraged, the Sporker leapt from their hiding place with a battle-cry, sprinting across the fields of bodies, leaping over the newly-made streams, and made his way with disturbing haste toward the monster. The Eldar Ninja attmpted to follow, but managed only to trip on a look twig, sending him tumbling after, breaking his crown.

Meanwhile, the Sporker engaged the Snotling, throwing his kitchen utensils with..uh..spork-like accuracy.. into the eye of the Orkish-mutation. The Marine leapt back, reaching for more Sporks, when the Snotling fell backward. 

Almost immediately after, the beast began to make odd whining noises. It took a few moments for the Naked Marine to realize that it was crying! Crying like a little girl! Our Hero couldn't help himself as his maternal instincts kicked in. He ran to the side of his weeping foe, cooing and making disturbing little baby noises in an effort to comfort it. At the same time the Eldar Ninja hobbled into the outpost, soaked and battered, and just a little P.O.ed.

The one-eyed ninja glared at the insanity before him, recognizing the trick at once. He dove toward them, but managed only to fall a few inches from where he stood. In the meantime the Snotling used his twitching, wriggling fingers to grapple the sporker, holding onto the Marine's one weakness. Though his arms and legs were free, the Sporker knew he had been beaten. He had let down his guard and was now in a situation which he might have enjoyed, had the hands not been wart-covered and spiderlike.

The Gimpja crawled closer and threw his cane at the beast, calling it a cute, fuzzy little giblet. Naturally, the Snotling had absolutely no bloody clue what the Space-Elf had said, but decided to smash it anyways. Dragging the Sporker behind, the Snotling advanced upon the seemingly-helpless Eldar, a cruel gleam in its one remaining eye.

With brutal efficiency the Eldar weaved and dodged the Tickler's downright creepy advances. After the Snotling had suggested the Elf was a thief, for it had stolen his heart, the Eldar decided that this was getting just a wee bit odd for a climactic battle. So, opting for more popular tactics, the one-eyed one-armed one-legged Ninja drop-kicked the Snotling in the crotch. With a yelp, the Marine was free, and once more both heros were battling to the death with the Orkish fiend.

Alas, the monster was too much, and no matter how much they kicked and sporked it, it kept coming with absolute abandon. They had nearly lost hope when they heard a shout from across the outpost.

There, upon the hill, was a silhouette of a man. With one of the suns of Purgatory setting, a rainbow halo was cast over the newcomer's head. In one of his arms was a massive weapon-- at least twice his size in length. The combatants stared in disbelief. Could it be the God-Emperor, come to combat evil wherever it lay? Or perhaps the War-God Khaine, here to protect his desciple. Or perhaps it was Gork, or Mork, Chaotic Gods of the Orks, come to deliver Cadiantucky-fried Squig-legs.

But all guesses were wrong. The shadowy figure lit a match to his comically oversized cigar, illuminating the battle-scarred and war-hardened face of none other than a Squat. The stalwart race of Space-faring Dwarves thought to have been eradicated by a Tyranid Hive Fleet. Or a really bad bout with Gonorrhea, the Naked Marine couldn't quite recall.

**Chapter Six: Gooey Political Goodness!**

The three combatants stood in awe at the sight of the once-extinct race standing before them. The Squat, of course, didn't give a flying chicken one way or another. While their jaws hung to the ground the Dwarf slung his disturbingly large gun over his shoulder and sneered.

"**PR'PARE T'DIE!**" he shouted, shimmering lights coming on all across the musket-like rifle. The Snotling was the first to react, shrieking like a banshee that stubbed her toe, scrambling for the nearest building. The One-armed one-eyed one-legged Ninja struggled to stop the Tickler. Our valiant hero, on the other hand, ran in the opposite direction, arms flailing.

On the hill the Squat's weapon discharged, launching a massive bubble across the battlefield with disturbing speed, (at least nine inches per second!). The man was cackling hysterically, watching the poor peons scrambling for cover. While they did, however, the Dwarf took aim on the only one that could possibly escape-- The Naked Space Marine.

The Sporker knew he was in trouble; he could not possibly outrun such a devastating weapon. The Marine turned and held his spork tightly, staring down the barrel of the massive bubble-launching weapon of mass destruction. He drew his arm back, preparing to launch the last attack he might ever make, when the shrill scream of jet engines filled the air.

Giant rickety aircraft were streaking above him, painted blue, white, and red. Inside the cockpits of each was a gunhappy psychotic ork, laughing hysterically at the grotz about to be launched from it's bays. _Oh no, _he thought, _it's the Bossman of the YellowSnow Warband-- Jeyorge Dubberya Shrub!_ This was truly serious-- the YellowSnows had some of the most devastating weaponry on the planet-- though they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. While standing beside the wall. While inside the barn itself.

But still, he had to do something. They must have been here to defend their Snotling weapon, but the Sporker couldn't possibly hope to stop all three foes at the same time. So, he did what any self-respecting Blood Raven would do. He grabbed the nearest Ca-COUGH**NA**COUGHCOUGHadian and threw him toward the Squat. Of course, the guy was just sitting back drinking a beer, and was now frustrated that it had spilled. But his dissapointment lasted only a few seconds as the Grot Bombz fell from the skies, piloted by psychotic Grotz trained by Oshma Been Lyin' Mekboyz. Within seconds the terrain around the squat was reduced to a crater, nothing left but ashes and scorched earth.

Even with the Squat taken care of, though, the Snotling was still shrieking and tickling the Marine's Eldar-buddy, all the while the deadly squat-bubble inching closer.

Our hero sprinted across the outskirts of the camp, spork in hand. The YellowSnow bommaz veered off, apparently satisfied with launching all of their bombs on the Squat, which probably had absolutely nothing to do with their objective anyways.

The Sporker finally reached the two tussling xenos, leaping into the fray, kitchen utensil flailing like mad. The Bubble was within mere feet of them when he and the Gimpja had beaten the Ork-monster into its namesake. While it lay crippled, twitching on the ground, the Naked Marine dragged his ally from the likely blast radius.

The Snotling finally began to pick itself off the ground, the bubble within a foot of its nose. The Tickler shrieked and tried to crawl away as the glossamer sphere bounded down onto it. But by some bizarre stroke of luck, the bubble landed on a rather sharp edge of the same stick that the One-eyed one-armed one-legged Ninja had tripped on, so long ago.

It popped.

Later, during the autopsy/dissection, the Apothecaries would inform the Naked Sporker that the Snotling had died from massive organ failure, rather than from the ensuing pop of the bubble. But the Marine knew all too well what had killed it: Self-inflicted bladder eruption. Or it had wet itself in fear.

It didn't really matter that much, anyways.

**...The End.**

....or is it?

.....Yep, it really is.

......can you really be sure?

.......Yes, I can.

........darn it.. (


End file.
